


He's a Rebel: The Mini-Sequel

by Usedtobehmc



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Dinner dates, Fancy Dining, M/M, Mundy being a big tough sweetie pie, Old Flames who turned out to be dickheads, annoyed cab drivers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3021332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/pseuds/Usedtobehmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>René and Mundy have a fancy Dinner-Date on Christmas. But these two can't ever have a night of peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's a Rebel: The Mini-Sequel

 

"Merry Christmas," Mundy threw some money at the driver and jumped out of the taxi cab first, insisting on getting René's door.

When René emerged from the cab his eyes fell on his favorite restaurant; Cheyenne. Impossible to get a reservation, extremely trendy, and boasting a multi-cultural menu that was the talk of the town, Cheyenne had been René's sole Christmas wish. It's exterior was draped with twinkling white Christmas lights and the light from inside was orange and warm.

"Surprise." Mundy smiled.

"But… but how?" René stammered when he saw Mundy's barely-restrained grin.

"I am very mysterious and wise," he waggled his eyebrows.

René shook his head in disbelief. This has not even crossed his mind when he wondered why Mundy had insisted they get dressed up for tonight's surprise. And Mundy did look quite fetching in an ironed shirt and dress pants, a rare outfit for him indeed. The sky blue shirt brought out his eyes and made his shoulders look broader, the pants hugged his hips tightly and highlighted his long legs. He looked amazing, even if René could tell he was a bit uncomfortable in the form-fitting clothes. Besides spending the last 18-ish years in jeans and a t-shirt, Mundy was a country boy at heart.

René felt quite the fashion plate himself, in his brand new, charcoal pea coat that reached his knees and kept him positively toasty in the frigid winter air of Chicago. Beneath his coat was his best outfit, a black three-piece suit that he'd bought as a gift for himself a few months earlier. He'd worn it only once before and had been looking forward to breaking it out again.

He realized he was about to have a lovely Christmas night out with the man he loved, dressed in fine clothes, in a beautiful city where they'd started their new life.

"Aw, don't get teary now, love." Mundy encircled René's shoulders with his long arms and ushered him towards the door.

"I'm not," René insisted, getting his emotions under control. "But this is amazing, Micky. Thank-you."

Inside, the bustling of waiters and the chatter of crowded tables greeted them just past the foyer as the hostess brought them to their table. A modest little two-top in the corner, it was just a bit quieter in that area of the restaurant than on the main floor, where gigantic tables of ten or more dominated the servers' time.

René gaped at the interior design of the restaurant; 19th century with tiled floors in black and white, classic woodwork on the walls and curved ceilings expertly etched into beautiful paisley designs. The light fixtures were encased in stained-glass, the tables were covered with white linen, their silverware and wine glasses perfectly polished.

Mundy looked a little out of his element, with his eyebrows raised. He gave a quiet whistle. "Fancy, ain't it?"

"Indeed," René grinned, feeling giddy. He knew that while it was not Mundy's favorite thing, getting dressed up and being spoiled was one of René's biggest guilty pleasure. Besides watching television shows that detailed lifestyles of the rich and famous, that is.

A waiter swooped into view with two menus and asked in a heavily accented voice if they would like to start with some drinks. Mundy put up his hands and let René do the ordering, and in French no less. The waiter's eyes twinkled just a bit to be speaking French with another *actual* Frenchman and not just another snooty American. He dashed off the retrieve the requested drinks and René sighed with happiness.

He noticed Mundy grinning at him. "Quoi? What?"

Mundy leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "You're cute, s'all."

René rolled his eyes. "Please."

"What'd you order?"

"A martini for me and a lovely beer for you. Something heavy and rich, just like you like."

"Brilliant," He rubbed his hands together, finally peering at the menu. "Remember, it's on me tonight, get whatever you want. And I mean anything."

René was about to protest, but a single stern look from Mundy quieted his reservations. He knew better than to refuse a gift from Michael Lawrence Mundy. The man was very prideful, when all was said and done. "Thank-you, mon coeur." A great warmth bloomed from his heart and he hoped he wasn't blushing.

The drinks were excellent, the appetizers delicious. René did all the ordering and made sure to order things they would both enjoy, while sneaking in the occasional surprising detail to expand Mundy's horizons a bit. The waiter kept the rounds coming, and by the time the main courses were up, they were each tipsy and full of mirth, with an alcohol-induced blush on their faces.

Mundy dug into his 14 ounce Filet Mignon with an unabashed moan of appreciation. René delicately took the first bite from his Salmon Napolitana and almost did the same.

Their eyes met and they silently agreed that it was damn good food. Not what they were used to, and very much appreciated.

About halfway through the meal, René felt the call of nature and excused himself to use the men's room. When he'd taken care of business and approached the sink to wash his hands, a voice interrupted his peace.

"Is that you, René Bellamy?"

He never thought he'd hear that voice again in a hundred years. But when he looked over his shoulder at the man entering the bathroom, it couldn't be denied.

"Ch… Christopher."

René was so shocked that he just stood stock-still as Christopher came over to give him a fierce hug. As a thousand thoughts ran through his mind, each carrying its own distinct emotion and memory, his arms hung limp at his sides, and he felt no urge to return the hug.

Christopher looked almost exactly as René remembered him. Tall, blond, gorgeous. A jaw like granite, smooth skin and smelling of fine cologne. He was a walking dream, he was class personified, he was sex on legs.

Christopher pulled back from the hug and gushed, "My god, it's been years. You look wonderful, what are you doing in Chicago?" And he looks so god damn genuine that for half a moment, René forgets what this man did to him. Has Christopher himself forgotten what happened all those years ago? Did he forget the note he left? Did he forget emptying René's bank account in one fell swoop, making it impossible for him to pay the rent? Did he forget sneaking out that morning after a night of passionate sex and 9 months of a relationship?

René's hands were tingling, feeling was coming back to his extremities slowly and now his heart was starting to pound as he found his voice.

"I uh… no. No, I'm sorry. No." He half-heartedly ran his hands under some water and didn't bother to dry them as he slipped around Christopher and out the bathroom door, back into the hustle and bustle of the busy restaurant floor. Back where it was warm and nice and safe. He barely even acknowledged the noises of confusion that Christopher made after him; whether they were actual words or just formless protestations, he couldn't say.

Why did he apologize? Why didn't he scream? Why didn't he say *anything* besides "no, I'm sorry?"

Bastard. Rotten son of a bitch.

He straightened his spine and loosened his shoulders with a considerable amount of mental effort before Mundy could spot him. He tried to make sure that his expression wasn't too obviously upset and sat down with as much a casual air as he could manage. René could be a very good actor when he wanted to be.

"What's wrong?" Mundy looked immediately concerned.

Damn it. "Nothing," René tried to look confused at the question. "Why?"

Mundy narrowed his eyes. "You look… upset?"

René shrugged. "No, I'm fine." It was at that moment that out of the corner of his eye he saw Christopher exiting the men's room, casting his gaze over the restaurant floor, obviously looking for him. René turned away as subtly as possible and hunched one shoulder up, trying to get back to his meal.

Mundy followed the path of René's brief gaze and gave him a look. "Who is that? C'mon, mate. What's wrong? Somebody harass ya?"

"René!" Christopher, the arrogant, stupid bastard, approached the table.

Mundy, bless him, knew when to back off and when to run interference. "G'day mate, name's Micky Mundy." He stood and held out his hand, which Christopher shook with total confusion.

"Erm, Christopher Madison, pleasure to meet you." He didn't take his eyes off René, who refused to meet them.

Almost instantaneously Mundy's face went a little darker. "Christopher," he said slowly, pulling the stories about the familiar name to the front of his mind. "Heard so much about ya." He used the handshake to bodily pull Christopher close enough to throw an arm around. René hazarded a glance and saw that Mundy had a good two inches in height over Christopher. It was so strange to see them both interacting that a fresh wave of nausea swept through his body.

Mundy kept one arm around Christopher's shoulders and reached into his pants pocket, tossing his wallet on the table. "René, why don't you get this wrapped and get the bill. I'm gonna have a conversation with our pal outside."

Christopher looked equal parts completely confused and terrified.

René wondered if his own face looked the same way. A few people in the restaurant began to take notice, glancing over their shoulders and letting their own conversations fade away in favor of observing.

Mundy kept one arm around Christopher's shoulders, disguised as an aggressive affectionate hug. He turned them both towards the front of the restaurant and made for the door, pulling the still-confused Christopher along with him.

René's mouth hung open until they were out of sight and suddenly his wits returned to him. He threw his hand up, signaling the first busboy he saw. "Um, please. Wrap this, and the check?"

The busboy thankfully understood that there was an urgency in his voice and dashed off to the kitchen to wrap the food. Seconds later, their waiter emerged with the bill and René quickly calculated the tip before digging into Mundy's wallet and leaving a generous extra amount. As soon as the busboy returned with the food in a takeaway bag, René slapped a five-dollar bill in the young man's hand, snatched the food and bolted for the door. He groaned when the coat-check girl reminded him to take his coat, but needed the ticket back.

Oh god, what if Mundy killed him?

When he burst through the door of the restaurant onto the sidewalk, he spotted them.

Mundy had Christopher pressed bodily against the side of a cab, speaking harsh and low words directly into his face. Christopher had his hands up defensively and they shook slightly with fear, twitching every time Mundy shook him by the lapels of his jacket.

Mundy's whole body looked tense with anger, his shoulders were bunched up practically around his ears. His legs were slightly bent and solid on the ground, using their strength to keep Christopher pinned against the taxi cab. René couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, but he knew it was probably laced with threats of injury that he fully intended to make good on.

Finally, the cabbie began to get annoyed at being forcibly involved in this altercation (and annoyed at being denied his fare for three full minutes) and leaned on the horn, casting a sullen glance back at Mundy from the window.

Mundy wrapped up his speech, gathered Christopher's shirt in one fist and shoved him into the cab as hard as he could, slamming the door behind the flailing feet of René's deserter. He pounded the roof of the cab twice and the yellow car obediently sped off down the street.

Mundy shook the tension out of his arms and shoulders and turned around to face René, looking surprised, as if he'd forgotten all about him being there. With a cough and a sheepish grin, he stepped off the street and onto the sidewalk where René stood with the remains of their uneaten dinner.

"Sorry 'bout that." Mundy began, only to be cut off when René pulled him into a deep kiss.

" _Mon grand, fort hors la loi_."

"Mmm, French." Mundy smiled.

"What did you say to him?"

"I uh… may have threatened to remove parts of his anatomy if he ever bothered you again. Got the message across, I think."

René couldn't help it: he laughed.

 

 

 

 


End file.
